


Salmon

by meetmeatthecoda



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: 7.14, F/M, Humor, Lizzington - Freeform, Romance, Tag Fic, strong t rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23681020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetmeatthecoda/pseuds/meetmeatthecoda
Summary: “He said he should leave us alone to ‘do whatever it is we do’.” She makes air quotes around the last few words as she says them.“…And?” Red prods, searching for her question.Liz gazes silently at him for a moment before answering, her words thick with meaning.“What do we do, Red?”A tag fic to the salmon scene in 7.14, expanding on Aram's... interesting comments. Lizzington. Strong T rating.
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 94





	Salmon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [codewordpumpkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/codewordpumpkin/gifts), [noacaffrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noacaffrey/gifts).



When Liz strides in the kitchen ahead of Dembe, the last thing she expects to see is Aram and Red. Talking. About Aram’s suspicions concerning Elodie. And her newly dead husband. While Red prepares salmon.

Interesting.

“I should go and let the two of you do whatever it is…you two do.”

A typical abrupt statement from Aram.

“Do you know why I’m preparing this salmon?”

A characteristic sidestep from Red.

“If this is about your libido…I’m – I’m good.”

And another awkward statement from—wait.

_What?_

Huh. Yes, an incredibly interesting statement from Aram, going completely unacknowledged as Red plows right over it to tell them about his newest case. And, within a few moments, Aram is excusing himself again, albeit a little more gracefully than before and with a spring in his step for a new mystery to solve, escorted out of the kitchen by Dembe.

Liz turns to Red.

“So, you’re going to help him?”

“Certainly.”

Red doesn’t look up at her, evidently too absorbed in sprinkling pinches of this and that onto the salmon fillets, his pale, freckled hands surprisingly delicate in his work.

(Well. Surprising to everyone but Liz.)

She sighs.

“Red, I know you want to help him, especially after what happened with Samar…”

Liz watches carefully as Red’s brow furrows slightly, his gaze still burning into the salmon, but with a tell clear enough that she knows she’s hit a sore spot.

(Because she knows he still hasn’t forgiven himself for helping Samar leave. And hurting Aram so much in the process.)

He doesn’t correct her.

“He’s my friend too,” Liz continues gently. “And I don’t want to see him get hurt or into trouble…So, don’t you think the best approach would be for him to go through legal channels? Go to the police with what he knows?”

Red sighs, flipping over the fillets one at a time with deft fingers and starting to season again.

“I would agree with you, Lizzie, but the problem is, Aram doesn’t _know_ anything. He only _suspects_. I can help him prove – or disprove – his suspicions and, if the young woman is indeed guilty, then he has proof to bring to the police.”

Liz sighs and leans her elbows against the gleaming silver table in defeat.

“I suppose that makes sense…” she admits reluctantly. “God, Aram has the worst luck with women, doesn’t he?”

Red quirks his lips at the fish in a tight, sardonic smile.

“He does.”

Watching as Red places a few sprigs of herbs onto the fillets, another, more entertaining topic occurs to Liz.

“Speaking of relationships…did he mention your libido? Was he implying that he thinks we’re sleeping together?”

Red, unfazed, tilts his head back and forth in his trademark gesture of thoughtfulness, looking as though he’s in idle conversation with the salmon.

“Would it bother you if he was?”

Liz thinks for a moment, idly picking up one of the small spice containers on the table and staring blankly at the label, unseeing.

“Not really,” she decides eventually. “I trust him.”

Red nods, seemingly directed both to her and the salmon, which he apparently deems ready for cooking, as he picks the tray up off the counter and heads to the ovens against the far wall of the kitchen.

“So,” Liz murmurs, craning her neck to eye him with interest as he bends to place the tray in the oven. “What do you think?”

Red slides the tray in and shuts the door with finality before _finally_ turning around to face her, wiping his hands on his ridiculously adorable apron and raising his eyebrows.

“About what, Lizzie?”

(She finally has his full attention.)

“Well,” she drawls, moving slowly around the table to face him with nothing in between them. “He said he should leave us alone to ‘do whatever it is we do’.” She makes air quotes around the last few words as she says them.

“…And?” Red prods, searching for her question.

Liz gazes silently at him for a moment before answering, her words thick with meaning.

“What _do_ we do, Red?”

(And she sees a slight change in his eyes, his face, his body, as he realizes what she’s after.)

But outwardly he just regards her, his lips pushing out in a tiny pout as he considers her question.

“Well,” – and he starts moving slowly toward her across the kitchen – “I suppose, on a daily basis, we hunt blacklisters. And everything that implies.”

Liz nods easily in agreement, watching him approach her with anticipation starting to tingle deep inside her, an answer to the intriguing look hidden just behind his eyes.

“That’s true. Anything…else?” she prods innocently.

Red pauses a few steps from her, frowning and cocking his head to gaze blankly over her shoulder, appearing deep in thought. But Liz knows better.

(He knows exactly what she wants.)

“Oh yes,” he says brightly, coming back to life after a short minute, his face breaking into a grin as he finally closes the last few steps between them. “We also sleep together,” – and he casually snags her around the waist – “also on a daily basis.”

Liz thrills inside to hear him say the words so plainly, their little secret, their life-changing decision. She allows herself to be pulled deliciously closer to him, brushing up against the soft fabric of his apron, even as her eyebrows rise in over-exaggerated surprise.

“On a daily basis? Really? Have I missed something today?” she quips, looping her arms around his neck even as she speaks.

“Perhaps I haven’t made my move yet today,” he hums, as his soft lips skim tantalizingly over the skin of her neck.

“Oh, yes?” she murmurs lowly, arching her neck to give him better access.

(And she wonders vaguely if last night counts, since it was actually very early this morning that she woke to his mouth on her, the sun not yet risen, for a few vigorous rounds of love making before Agnes got up for school. She hopes not. She hasn’t had nearly enough of him for the day.)

So, she decides to tease him.

Liz pulls back abruptly from his ministrations, just far enough to peer suspiciously into his startled face with narrowed eyes. She lets him panic for a moment, visibly confused, before speaking.

“…Is that why you’re making the salmon?”

She watches, up close and delighted, as his eyes widen in surprise, narrow in resentment, and then glare at her in determination.

(Too easy.)

He growls low in his throat, causing another, stronger thrill to shoot through her as she sees his eyes darken. And then he’s suddenly moving forward, taking her by surprise and pushing her swiftly backwards until her hips bump against the countertop, resulting in her being pinned in a kitchen by Raymond Reddington, his hands wrapped tightly around her hips.

Lovely.

“My libido needs no assistance, as you very well know, Elizabeth,” he growls into her ear, teeth grazing her earlobe as he speaks.

“Oh yeah?” Liz whispers, shivering in delight. She pulls his head around so she can lean in close, her lips grazing his.

“Well, why don’t you prove it?”

She doesn’t have to wait long.

He lunges, capturing her lips and kissing her hungrily, while his tongue wastes no time tangling with hers. Liz can’t help but let out a moan, letting her hands rest against his surging jaw and pressing her hips firmly to his, making her intentions clear. And, as he nips at her lips and kneads her thigh, making soft, wonderful sounds of enjoyment, Liz has to bury her grin in his mouth.

Because, while the salmon smells good, she wants no part of it.

She’s already gotten what she wants.

Him.


End file.
